As the Snowflakes Fall SUPER slow updates
by DracoNako
Summary: The true monsters were never the beasts that were consumed by "blood". It was never the shadows lurking at the edges of our nightmares, or the Hunters that slaughtered them. The true monsters are the ones in plain sight. The illusionists, the feasters, the cannibals... they are no match for the real plagues of Yharnam. They are no match for the ghouls.
1. 00

**Blah blah blah, I don't own Tokyo Ghoul or Bloodborne, blah.**

 **Prepare for the nightmare**

* * *

 **00 - The Night is Long**

They had been used to it by now - at least, they had thought they were. The epidemic of ashen blood, the curse of their transfusions - everything they were or ever would be should have dictated that killing and dying were normal functions of life.

At first, the corpse was regarded with a sense of confusion. The missing flesh was nothing new, but the pattern in which it was missing was. And those eyes...

The Doll shivered just thinking about them. They held the gaze of someone in the throws of the unknown. No curse-discarded or consumed body had ever before held such a terrified expression before... and yet here was the person with the haunting grey eyes who told of horrors yet unknown.

No, the Doll reflected, none of the corpses she could remember had ever even had eyes before.

Red droplets fell in place of rain.

They'd been handsome in life, she thought. Aside from the scars that marred the left side of their face and the missing chunks of flesh, they had once stood proud and mighty in the city of Yharnam.

And yet...

"Something is wrong," she murmured to the shadows. She clasped her hands and rocked back and forth over the half-devoured corpse in front of her. Blood still oozed from the holes, pooling around them both and tainting the air with the scent of copper. Beneath the aromas of blood and earth and death, there was another. The Doll did not recognize what it came from.

In the distance, a lone figure licked their palms and grinned into the dark. Their teeth and eyes flashed, the latter a writhing mass of red among the black. Thick tendrils undulated in the air behind them. If the Doll had only pricked her ears, she might have heard them chuckle.


	2. 01

**01 - And So A Nightmare Is Born**

Snow fell in thick clumps and weighed down on Cyra's head. The folds in her cap would surely be coated by the time she got home, she thought, and soaked through once she warmed up.

 _Such a shame. It's not even my own._

As she thought, she trailed her fingers over the pistol at her hip. It pressed into her hip bones and was as sleek as moving water in her touch. The hilt of her short sword dug into her shoulder blades.

In the streets below, bonfires were burning.

 _Yharnam is the home of blood ministration... and of beasts._

Every man, woman, and child knew this. They knew of the curse that lines the city's parameter, the one that stank the sewers and filled the cracks in the cobblestone roads. They all knew, and they all hated themselves for it. Cyra was no exception.

 _We are born of the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood._

She couldn't remember where she'd first heard the words, but they rang through her ears regardless. Perhaps she had read them from a history book, she decided. All she knew was Master Willem had once uttered them, before the Hunt began.

 _The Hunt..._

When she'd asked Gilbert about it, he hadn't told her much. Not that there had been much to say in the first place; he had been too sick for prolonged speeches and she had been too frail to listen. Besides, the thought of her expected contract held more weight to her than the monsters did.

Or at least, it had. Now the beasts were her problem, too.

 _And you'll be one of them, sooner or later._

There was no doubt about it. The blood in Cyra's veins was not her own - for the most part, anyhow - but still it sang with an undeniable vigor.

Cyra slipped her sword from its sheathe and held it out, the hilt in one hand and the blade in the other. The dark metal gleamed in the light of the blood-tinged moon.

"We are born of the blood," she whispered to it. "Made men by the blood, undone by the blood."

Down below, the bonfires continued to roar. Cyra rose slowly to her feet, shifting her weight as she moved so as to not slide off the rooftop she perched on. The backs of her legs and buttocks, which had gone numb after a while, started to regain feeling. The distinct jingling of metal and the shifting of the bullets in her breast pocket reminded her of a night like this, oh-so-long ago...

"The hunt begins soon," she said under her breath. Gaze skyward, she watched the moon continue its slug-like climb. The snow pulled her hat down tighter, strangling both her skull and her ponytail.

 _Maria would be ashamed to have her cap desecrated like this._

With that, Cyra tipped off her tricorn cap and upended its contents onto the ground. A bewildered Yharnamite gazed up at her from their balcony, the frames of their glasses gleaming. Cyra couldn't see much of them from her perch - not that it mattered. Their clothing was thick black wool, with a matching hood that obscured their facial features.

"Are you amused up there, Hunter?" they called.

"Very," Cyra replied, "thank you."

They nodded and looked out at the city. "Seems like it's going to be a long night."

"And a long hunt, too."

"Quite a clear sky, though. The moon glows bright."

 _And red,_ Cyra wanted to add. But she didn't; very few Hunters were able to see the Blood Moon as it truly was, or the horrors that came with it.

"I've never seen you around before," the stranger continued. "Though I've seen... pieces."

By that, they probably meant the pistol at her hip and the hat in her hands. The former had come from the Dream, the latter off of Lady Maria's skeletal corpse in the middle of a decrepit clock tower that no longer tolled. Neither were particularly outlandish possessions in of themselves, and they aided in keeping Cyra safe, but the warning notes in the stranger's voice told Cyra everything she needed to know.

She leaped from the rooftop and landed, almost catlike, on the thin railing on the balcony. The stranger visibly paled and sprang back several feet. Cyra looked over.

"I'm sure you have," she said as she regarded them. "Just like I've seen pieces of your kinsfolk, hung from pyres or half-devoured by the beasts."

"Yes... of course." The stranger slipped their hands into their sleeves and bowed their head. Cyra could make out the faintest white strands of hair beneath their hood. "I didn't mean any insult by it."

"No." Cyra thumbed the hilt of her blade. "Of course you didn't." Then she peered over the railing, stomach churning as she calculated the distance. Finally, "It appears I would injure myself if I dropped from here. May I...?"

The stranger's head snapped up and for once Cyra could see the silver in their eyes, as well as the hollowness in their cheeks. The right side of their face was marred with scars - probably burn marks, Cyra thought - and three deep scores could be seen at the base of their neck. Though where the marks ended, Cyra did not know.

"You want... To come in my house? Now?"

"Just for a brief moment, really." Cyra jumped down onto the balcony floor, coat tail fluttering around her. Her feet crunched in the snow. "You see, if I were to jump from here to the street I'd chance breaking my neck, or other things."

Their gaze was wary. "Miss..."

"Cyra."

"Miss Cyra, the time of the hunt is nearly upon us, and I'll be needing to board up soon enough..."

"It'll just be a moment," Cyra replied. "No fuss at all."

"But the snow..."

Cyra's blade whistled through the air and stopped just a hair's width away from the stranger's neck. "A bother now, but like all other things it will melt and become naught else but a stain on your shabby carpets. Now please, I implore you." She returned her hat to the top of her head and returned to a neutral stance. The blade slid noiselessly into the hilt on her back.

"You..." The stranger sighed and dipped their head. "Yes," they replied, "I suppose it'd be smart to let you through." They glanced to the sky before freeing their hands and stepping back. "If you'll follow me, Miss Cyra."

Together, they walked from the balcony and through the room beyond, whose walls were lined with bookshelves of varying heights. The further on they walked, the larger the spines on the books got, until Cyra was passing books with spines as big as both of her palms put side by side. The stranger's footfalls seemed to glide along the floor.

"You have a lot of books," Cyra said.

"It's nice for one to keep their mind sharp on nights like these," the stranger replied. "It helps to drive out the sounds of screaming."

"That's nice."

Plain yellow and browning walls whizzed by them. Cyra descended more stairs than she could count, until finally she was in the foyer. The stranger stopped short of the door with a sigh.

"I've never been held at knife-point before... You truly are a strange Hunter."

"Better to hunt than to be hunted," Cyra replied. "Though perhaps the blade was a bit much. My apologies."

Whether the stranger forgave her or not, it didn't matter. The door swung open, creaking on its hinges, and Cyra walked out onto the street.

"Many thanks," she said with the tip of her hat.

/

A hot and sticky wind hit the back of her neck, accompanied by a faint growl. Cyra spun around and sprang backwards. The pistol exploded in her hand.

The beast before her was nothing unlike the others. Hulking, snarling, riddled with fur. From where a nose and a mouth had been now sprouted an elongated muzzle, fangs poking out from every which way. Their eyes seemed to glow in the dark.

All around them, the snow continued to fall.

The beast's tattered clothes waved through the air like ribbons as it raised one massive paw to swat at her. Cyra dived forward and to the left, somersaulting off the ground and firing at its ribs upon passing. Strips of flesh poked from where the holes in its clothes were. It took her bullet without so much as a huff before roaring and lunging for her again. Cyra stepped in, until she almost collided with its chest, and swiped at it with her blade.

Blood spurted from the wound and coated her. The acrid tinge of copper assaulted her senses. But she was used to it by now.

She pressed the barrel of her pistol to the lycanthrope's cheek and pulled the trigger.

 _Click._

Nothing. She was out of bullets.

 _Damn it!_

The beast's paw hit her before she could dodge. Cyra rolled again and again through the cemetery before smacking against a tombstone.

 _Don't get distracted, imbecile._

Senses reeling, Cyra plunged the blade into her stomach and withdrew it again with a grimace. The beast's heavy footfalls thundered towards her.

 _Come on, come on, come on..._

Blood flecked the ground. Cyra rolled out of the way just as the beast came down on the spot she'd been heartbeats before.

From the blood that'd pooled on her blades and her shirt, small quicksilver bullets were quickly materializing. Her hands shook pressed a bullet into the pistol. Then she shoved it into her holster.

The beast lunged again. Cyra's heart beat too fast for her to process.

Its paw sailed over her head, bringing a gust of wind with it. Her hat wavered in its wake.

 _You've got this... you've got this..._

Without any time to think about it, one blade turned into two and she twirled them both in her hands. Her blood and that of sources unknown sung in her veins, bringing with it a feral rage that consumed her with its entirety. Her swords crossed in front of her and cut into the monster's stomach.

The beast lifted its head and gave a ferocious howl. When it looked back at her, its eyes gleamed like two rubies and it bared its teeth. Then it snapped at her. She sidestepped and slashed again at the beast's thick pelt...

But before she could hit her mark, something bowled into her from the side and knocked her over, out of reach of the beast.

 _What..._

Pain radiated from her chest where her blades had been buried into her sternum. With a face-full of snow and sore bones, Cyra pushed herself back upright and pulled them back out. The blades resisted as they scraped against her breast bones. Her blood splashed out onto the snow and dyed the graying tombstones.

The graveyard spun before her eyes. The beast's fur flashed gray-red-grey-red... or was that the dancing shadow in front of it?

 _Now that I think about it.._ Cyra didn't recognize the cloaked figure that had taken her place, but she took note of their unusually-colored eyes as they looked to her for the briefest of seconds.

 _Red on black..._

Then they turned away again and, without flinching, plunged their fist into the beast's chest. Red claw-like wings exploded from their shoulder blades and gripped at the lycanthrope. When it swiped at them, the stranger raised a fist up and swatted the attack away.

 _What..._

The stranger's wings tensed. A sickening crunch reverberated around the courtyard and in Cyra's soul. Before her very eyes, the wings yanked and the beast split in two. Bits of guts and bone and blood rained down on the graveyard. A strange slime coated the stranger's coat. They raised their hand to their mouth and licked at their skin.

"Excuse m-"

Before Cyra could spit out the rest of her sentence, the figure dove into the lycanthrope's remains and proceeded to rip it apart with their teeth. Their wings - if they could be called that - flared out of their spine and spread their tips skyward. Though she wasn't in the right spot to properly watch them, Cyra could hear the tell-tale squishing of flesh as the corpse was ripped apart.

Fear bolted through her. Cyra clasped her hands and bowed her head.

We _are born by the blood, made men by the blood, undone by the blood._ The mantra repeated itself over and over in her mind as the stranger's feet crunched on the snow and they kicked up crimson dregs. She still couldn't force the sound of flesh splitting from bone out of her head.

"Are you doing alright?" they asked, voice silky smooth. With rattly knees and jittery hands Cyra pushed herself to her feet, trembling all the while. The entire graveyard was red.

"...Who are you? _What_ are you?"

"You're a Hunter, huh?"

Cyra pressed her lips together.

"I figured you would be stronger than that. Guess I really _am_ an improvement, eh?" Then, after several moments, "Still, you didn't do _too_ terribly."

And just like that, their wings undulated and were sucked into the stranger's shoulder blades. Their gloved hands came and lifted the hood from their head, revealing long and snowy locks that bloomed from their head and framed their face like a mop.

 _I remember that hair color..._

Shock - and a fist - slammed into Cyra's stomach and knocked the breath from her body. She keeled over and landed sideways in the snow.

"Yaknow, it wasn't the smartest idea to threaten me with a knife." As they spoke, they drove their foot into Cyra's curled-up form. "Actually," they continued, "no. It was a mistake for you to leave your house at all tonight." Their eyes blazed, one moment normal and icy-blue and the next back to black on red. Thin veins pulsed on their cheekbones. Then they kicked her again and all Cyra could taste was blood.

"St-" she paused to hack out scarlet phlegm. "Stop it!"

Instead, they leaned over and closed one hand around her throat. Without even flinching, they lifted Cyra, kicking and gasping, into the air.

"You see these tombstones?" They asked as they cocked their head to the side. "One of these could easily become yours."

All Cyra could do was claw at their hands and gasp. The blood rushed to her head and all she could hear was the _pulsepulsepulse_ of her brain. Black filled her vision from the edges and closed in.

 _I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to-_

The stranger put her down after several moments.

"I wouldn't kill you," they said as Cyra wheezed for air. "You're not that valuable to me, anyhow."

The world spun as Cyra fell to her knees and touched at her throat with trembling fingers. She opened and closed her mouth several times but all that came out was a high-pitched croak when she tried to speak. Finally, she managed a very rapsy, "What... are... you?"

" _Ma zot omeret_..." The stranger shook their head before squatting down and lifting Cyra's chin up with one finger. "Such eyes you have. They're the kind that would make a lovely snack."

Cyra's heart skipped a beat and she was sure that the stranger felt it, too. _They're a cannibal..._

"Are you scared? You sure look that way." Their nail dug into the bottom of Cyra's jaw, but she forced herself to keep their gaze.

 _No,_ she decided. _They're something much worse than that, I think._

"I can see the gears of your brain turning. What's inside your head?" Before Cyra could react, they had her by the throat again. "I'd sure love to find out," they said. "Wouldn't you?"

She was flying, she was falling, she was-

Cyra's head smacked against what she could only guess was a tombstone and stars burst to life in her eyes. She moaned, head lolling to the side, and coughed until her lungs ached as bad as her throat did. By then, the stranger was upon her once again.

"You've made a grievous error. No need to worry, though. I'll let you go this time."

She couldn't even muster the strength to nod.

"By the way, my name is Red. Red Tzipora. And if I ever catch you outside again..."

They stopped in front of her, allowing Cyra to admire the carnage coating their boots, before they grabbed the front of her tunic and hauled her upright. Her knees rattled and threatened to give way underneath her.

Red handed her back her gun. "If I ever catch you our here again on a night of the hunt," they said, "I'll kill you, and I'll eat you, and I'll turn your bones into weapons."

"Wh-what..." Cyra's tongue felt thick in her mouth. She swallowed and tried again. "What if I killed you now?" she asked.

Red smiled, revealing dagger-sharp teeth. "Oh, trust me," they replied. "You won't."

Cyra didn't think twice about it. She turned on her heel and fled, and she didn't stop until the snow was white again and the graveyard was out of sight.


	3. AN

I'm only going to say this once.

Almost every review I've gotten thus far is some variation of "this can't work". Which is fine, if I was adhering to only _**ONE SPECIFIC CANON**_. However, the fact of the matter here is that I am not. Not quite.

Yes, I know what makes up Great Ones. I know what makes up Hunters. I know how they work. However, I'm not JUST using Bloodborne canon. I'm also using TG canon - hence, what makes this a CROSSOVER fic. Much to a lot of people's chagrin, I'm _not using purely BB lore._

I know what I'm doing. If you could see my end of this writing process, you'd see all the research I'm clocking, including reading through Reddit user RedGrave's _The Paleblood Hunt_ [which is almost 100 MS doc pages long!] and scanning wiki after Wiki for _hours_. There's a lot of lore to comb through, mostly on Bloodborne's end. **I know what I'm doing.** That is part of why updates are so slow.

I'm getting really tired of all the comments being "this isn't possible." You're right. It's not possible - in purely Bloodborne canon. This is not purely Bloodborne canon. I never wrote it to BE purely Bloodborne canon. It is a crossover fic. Which means I've tweaked both canons to fit my needs. End of.


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